The Cure
by Tigrislupa
Summary: Dick's there to help with all of his brothers' problems. Even the weird ones.


Dick loved his brothers very much. He really did. Through all the highs and lows, through all their fights, they were all still family. And if there was one thing about his family he had learned, it was this.

Always watch out for curve balls.

As Tim swept past, scowl firmly in place, only to face-plant into the couch next to him, Dick began to run through a little mental checklist.

_Case list?_

No, nothing major there. Crime had actually been relatively quiet all week, and the drug shipment wasn't for another few days, so that wasn't it.

_Personal life?_

Tim hadn't _mentioned_ any problems. No one from the Titans had told him about anything major. No unusual tensions running around the manor. And no mention of any girls lately.

"Hey, Dick?"

_And here we go_.

"Yes, Timmy?"

"Name a song."

"A…song?"

"Yeah."

"Any song?"

"Yes, anything."

"I Love Rock and Roll."

The silence lasts all of a minute before Tim sits up and flumps onto his back with a groan. "Name another."

"Hey Jude."

Dick studies his brother, who, if the closed eyes and furrowed brows are anything to go by, is intensely concentrating. What is so important about his taste in music?

With a yell, Tim sits up, scowl deeper than ever and glaring holes into the plaster.

"Another."

"Tim, what are you-"

"Name anothersong, Dick."

"The Macarena. Why do you need all these songs?"

"Because none of them have worked yet."

"What haven't they worked at?"

Tim paused, adopting a slightly more awkward demeanor.

"Dick…you know how your brain can get…stuck on things?"

Understanding flashed and a mischievous glint appeared in Dick's eyes.

"Tim, do you have a song stuck in your head?"

"It's been in there for over eight hours and it just _will not go away_. It's not even the whole song or really a song at all, more like a chant, and it is_ driving me crazy_. I've tried going through case files, doing my homework, listening to the song, listening to music, reading, watching TV. Nothing works!" Tim grabbed the throw pillow from under his head and mashed it into his face.

A few muffled snickers managed to make their way past Dick's hand as he moved to sit by Tim. _Really, of all the things to be upset about._

A muffled "Stop laughing" made its way past the pillow.

"Okay, okay. So, what is this villainous tune that's invaded my dear brother's head?"

Tim gave a small sigh and moved the cushion up off his mouth a bit. "There was this show I used to watch when I was a kid. It was called _Bill Nye the Science Guy_."

"Can't say I ever saw it."

His lips twisted up into a smirk. "Not quite your era, old man. Anyways, it was amazing, but I haven't seen it in years and now the theme song…it won't get out of my head and all I can hear is 'Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!' and I just-" frustrated screams leaked out from the pillow.

Dick patted the chest beside him, shaking his head. "Oh, Timmy. Didn't you know? There's only one surefire cure to getting songs out of your head."

Slightly suspicious eyes peered out from under the pillow. "What's that?"

Dick grinned a grin that all older siblings seem to harbor especially for their younger siblings. "Now why should I just TICKLE FIGHT!"

That was the only warning Tim got before hands were skittering along his ribs and fingers were prodding his belly. Shrieks of laughter and pleas for Dick to stop filled the room. Try as Tim might, nothing seemed to work. His hands were batted away, his legs sat upon, and when he finally did manage to scramble away, nope, that's his ankle and "Dick, let go, no, that's my sock, Dick!" and then it was open season on his feet.

After what seemed to be an eternity to Tim, the war was finally over. He, disheveled and flustered, stood in a defensive stance in the middle of the room, and Dick lounged on the couch looking for all the world like the cat that got the canary and the cream to boot.

"I win."

"Was that _really_ necessary?"

"Entirely."

"Even the raspberry?"

"Probably would have worked better without your six pack. Don't worry, next time I'll think of something even better."

"That's not the point!"

Dick sat forward, still smiling. "You're right. The point is, you're not thinking about it, are you?"

Tim frowned, "What do you mean abo- no! Not thinking that again! Dick, you…it worked?"

Standing, Dick made his way past to the doors. "Of course it worked."

Tim's stance relaxed and his face softened. "Dick, I-_hic_."

A full-grade Bat glare leveled itself at Dick's retreating back. The effect was slightly lessened by the rhythmic jolting and squeaking.

Not bothering to turn around, Dick cheerfully intoned, "Warning! Side effects may include dizziness, stomach ache, nausea, hiccups, and misplaced anger towards elder brothers."

"Di-_hic_! Get back _hic_-ere!"


End file.
